


Baby-Daddy

by Amymel86



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Modern AU, The Switch au, a birthday present for RINAAAAAAA, coz she's awesome, donor baby, jonsa
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-23
Updated: 2018-02-16
Packaged: 2019-03-08 13:32:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13459302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amymel86/pseuds/Amymel86
Summary: “I’m going to have a baby!”Jon’s forkful of scrambled eggs paused mid-way to his mouth. “W-what?!” He stared at Sansa’s beaming face - a face that had no business looking so damned happy this early in the morning. “You’re pregnant?” he croaked, his eyes dropping to where he supposed her belly would be if he could see through the melamine table of the breakfast diner they were at.“Well,” she sniffs, flicking her hair over her shoulder, “not yet, but I will be.”





	1. Sansa's Plan

**Author's Note:**

  * For [harumscarum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/harumscarum/gifts).



> Y'all can blame Rina for having a birthday for the fact that I'm starting another mutlichap ok? Like, HOW DARE SHE?
> 
> No but really, Rina is THE BEST - so she deserves all the nice things.
> 
> This fic will be very loosely based on the film The Switch - you don't need to have seen the film to follow it (I haven't lol)

“I’m going to have a baby!”

Jon’s forkful of scrambled eggs paused mid-way to his mouth. “W-what?!” He stared at Sansa’s beaming face - a face that had no business looking so damned happy this early in the morning. “You’re pregnant?” he croaked, his eyes dropping to where he supposed her belly would be if he could see through the melamine table of the breakfast diner they were at.

“Well,” she sniffs, flicking her hair over her shoulder, “not yet, but I will be.”

“Ok…you’re going to have to get me up to speed here Sans,” Jon says, abandoning his fork and rotating his fingers in front of himself – as if that would extract the relevant information any faster.

She wrinkles her nose and reaches over to stop the movement of his hands. If there’s one thing that annoys Sansa Stark, it’s unnecessary fidgeting. Jon has learnt that, and many more things over the course of the 13 years that they’ve been best friends. Of course, Jon can’t help it sometimes – his hands have nearly always been a law unto themselves and often expose more of his emotions than his own words. Sansa, on the other hand is almost always cool, calm and collected – even in situations where he _knows_ she’s internally shitting a brick.

“So, as you know, I’m turning 32 next week,” she pauses to watch him nod, looking him in the eye as if she’s already given him all the dots and she’s just waiting for him to make the connections. She lets out a sigh when she sees the crease between his brows. “Jon, you know why I broke up with Harry last year don’t you?”

“Because his taunting about the Vale Falcons’ victory over the Winterfell Wolves was getting a bit ridiculous?”

Sansa rolled her eyes. “Be serious. Harry was perfect for me and you know it.”

Jon said nothing even though a barrage of contradictions came to mind. Harry _had_ been a somewhat good boyfriend to Sansa – he couldn’t argue with that. But the guy had definitely harboured weird notions about Jon and Sansa’s friendship – claiming that it was impossible for a man to be friends with a woman without wanting more. Sansa had argued herself blue that if anything, Jon was more like a brother than a friend anyway – what with him growing up with all the Starks. It wasn’t until Sansa started to attend King’s Landing University, the same Uni as Jon that they began to become close friends. Harry conceded, but Jon suspected he’d not shaken off the territorial need to prove himself the alpha male in Jon’s presence – always slinging his arm around Sansa or openly groping her ass whenever she’d invite Jon ‘round for dinner with them. She’d laugh about it later with him, _“Jeez – why does it feel like I’ve just been peed on?”_  

The thing was, for all of Harry’s minor faults, he had at least somewhat _tried_ to understand Jon and Sansa’s relationship. Jon’s not sure whether his jealousy had ever completely disappeared, but he had at least agreed that being friends with Jon made Sansa happy – and that had been something they had both wanted for her. Well…that had been the case until Sansa made it clear that what would truly make her happy was something that Harry was just not willing to give.

“You know how tough that break up for me was. You were there,” she continued, bringing Jon back to the here and now.

He reached across the table, placing his hand over hers. “Yes, I know. I’m sorry. You know I always crack jokes at inappropriate times.”

“You do,” Sansa accused, before her expression transformed into a warm smirk, “don’t ever stop doing that by the way.”

Jon returned her smile and picked up his fork again, shovelling a good amount of his breakfast into his mouth, “You were saying?” he mumbled around his food.

Sansa took a sip of her coffee and let out a long breath. “Ok,” she started, “I know I told you that Harry and I broke up because I finally confronted him about his anti-marriage belief bullcrap-“ Jon nodded, picking up his toast and taking a bite, “-well, not only did he say that he couldn’t ever see himself being the marrying type, he declared that he never wanted children either.”

“Oh,” Jon said sympathetically. Even through her career-minded exterior, if anyone knew anything about Sansa Minisa Stark, it was that she was born to be a mother.

“Yeah, _‘oh’_ ,” Sansa bobbed her head. “So you see why I had to do it? It wasn’t _just_ about not ever becoming Mrs Hardyng. It was never only about that. I just didn’t want to waste any more of my time in a relationship where we obviously didn’t want the same things out of life.”

“OK…so you’re, what?...in the market for a baby-daddy?”

Sansa snorted and tore a dainty piece from her croissant before popping it into her mouth. “Well, I’m not looking for a man at all.”

Jon scrunched his brow. “Don’t you kind of need one of those to-“ he leant back in his seat at their booth, his hands tracing the shape of a round belly in front of him.

“No,” Sansa shook her head and rolled her eyes, “I just need his…’stuff’.”

Jon blinked back at her. “You’re going to do this thing alone?”

“Jon,” she said his name on a sigh, “I’m not getting any younger and my window of opportunity is getting smaller and smaller-“

“Jesus Sansa! You’re turning 32, not 62! You’ve got plenty of-“

“No. No I haven’t. I wasted what? 7 years with Harry? How long is it going to take for me to find someone else that I’d even consider having children with? And then you can’t just start popping kids out straight away – we’ve got to make sure the relationship is stable. How long will that take? And what if we get to that point and something happens? What if I realise he’s not the person I thought he was at the beginning of the relationship, much like I did with Harry?”

“That’s a lot of questions.”

“Yeah well,” Sansa scooped all her pretty auburn hair to one side and began absently braiding it as her eyes dropped to the table between them – the only tell she has that let’s Jon know she’s troubled by something. “These are the things that keep me up at night,” she said quietly.

“So…you’re looking for a…sperm donor?”

Sansa glanced up at him and smiled. “Yes,” she dropped her half done braid, “I’ve never wanted anything more than to be a mum and I wanted you to be the first to know about my plans…and I was hoping you might help me.”

Jon coughed, choking on his eggs, little sprays of his breakfast flying from his mouth. “Wha-…err…how-how exactly am I meant to help you?” he croaked.

Sansa pulled out an overstuffed file from her tote bag, slamming it onto the table-top and pushed it forwards. “I need help deciding who the donor should be,” she tapped the top of the file with a single beautifully manicured finger, “all my candidate’s details are in here.” Sansa leant back and took in Jon’s bewildered expression with a furrowed brow. “Why? What did you think I’d meant?”

 

 

 

 


	2. These feelings inside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon helps Sansa decide.

“Are you still looking at those?” Ygritte asked as she climbed into bed beside Jon.

“Yeah,” he nodded, not looking up from the wads of paper in his hands. Ygritte sighed and removed her hair tie, shaking out her fiery locks.

“Is she any closer to making a decision?”

“She’s whittled it down to these two,” Jon said, his gaze flitting between the two files he held up in his hands.

Ygritte picked up the notepad that had been discarded by Jon’s side. “You made notes?”

Dropping the papers to the bedsheets that covered his waist, Jon pushed his fingers up under his glasses to scrub at his eyes. It was late, and he’d been looking over Sansa’s possible sperm donor candidates for what seemed like days now. “Yeah. A pros and cons kind of thing,” he stretched and let out a yawn. Ygritte frowned.

“I don’t know why Sansa needs your help with this. Surely she knows what she wants?”

“Well yeah, but she asked for my input.”

Ygritte flung the notepad lightly at Jon’s lap, hunkered down under the bedding and turned away from him. “I envy her, you know?” she said quietly over on her side of the bed – a side that seemed so much further away than it used to.

“Why?”

“Because she’s got the guts to go for what she wants – to hell with other people and their judgements. She’s doing what feels right for her.”

Jon stayed quiet. He sensed that his girlfriend hadn’t wanted him to though – but he stayed quiet none-the-less. Sometimes, he thought his relationship with Ygritte was a ticking timebomb that could blow any minute and every decision he made was forcing him to cut either the red or the blue wire. It wasn’t that Ygritte was volatile herself, even though –yes- they had rows, it was more that he often got the feeling that there was some distant voice in her head, calling for her to wake up. That restless look in her eyes became more frequent over the past year and Jon wasn’t sure if he hadn’t addressed it through lack of fear or caring.

Ygritte sighed and turned out the lamp on her side of the bed.

 

 

“So, we think Dickon, yes?” Sansa asked, her eyes scanning Jon’s notes and her own once more over breakfast at their regular spot.

Jon shovelled a forkful of pancakes into his mouth and mumbled unintelligibly through his chewing.

Sansa rolled her eyes. “You can wait till you swallow to answer, you know. I’m not in a rush.”

“I said,” Jon started after forcing his half-chewed breakfast down with a hard swallow, “Dickon seems the best choice. He’s healthy, with no family history of illnesses. His IQ is above average, and he must have some good qualities such as determination and the like to make it so far up in the military.”

Sansa hummed in agreement as she looked over Dickon’s file in her hand. “Plus, he’s gorgeous!” she grinned, turning the paper around so Jon could see Dickon’s photo – as if he hadn’t been staring at that image for over a week while he deliberated Sansa’s choices. “He’d make such beautiful babies!” she sighed, turning the file back to gaze down at the photo.

Jon frowned. It wasn’t that he disagreed – he could quite easily concede that this Dickon guy was a looker – but for some reason unknown to him, looking at that face smiling up at him made him feel uneasy. Jon told himself it was because he found the whole situation odd – like looking through a catalogue or a menu, trying to determine what you were going to order. If Jon was really being honest with himself, he didn’t particularly want Sansa to ‘order’ anything.

Jon knew that Sansa could get virtually any single, straight man she might set her sights on. He was aware that she was gorgeous; he’d have to be blind not to realise that. And so yeah – so what if he has checked her ass out when they go to the gym together? (With him hitting the weights and her attending her spin class). It’s not _his_ fault that yoga pants are made so damn tight, and her ass looks as though it was fashioned by the Gods as a beacon of temptation. It’s also not his fault that her laugh does weird things to his stomach, or how she always knows what to say to lift his mood. The fact was, she was his dearest friend, and Jon couldn’t fathom why she didn’t have a plethora of men falling at her feet, begging to be the one to be good to her.

“What?” Sansa said, catching Jon’s frown, “He _would_ make beautiful babies! He has nice eyes and an aesthetically appealing face – very symmetrical. And look at that chiselled jaw!” she twisted the file round again to show Jon that damned photo once more.

Jon snorted. “Just what you want on a baby – a chiselled jaw” he remarked dryly, pushing his food around on his plate.

Sansa’s lips twitched, and Jon knew the look well – she was caught halfway between being annoyed and being amused. “Don’t you think Dickon is handsome?” Jon reluctantly grumbled his agreement which made Sansa grin back at him. “You’re ‘aesthetically pleasing’ too, Jon,” she said, patting his hand. “I’m sure you and Yg will have beautiful children.”

“Hmm,” Jon nodded his head as he shoved a rather large portion of his pancakes into his mouth. He hadn’t told Sansa yet, but he suspects that his relationship with his girlfriend is _‘on the rocks’_ , as it were. It’s not something that he can quite put his finger on and grasp hold of, but the most startling revelation came when he realised that he just didn’t have it in him to find out what their issues were and to work them out.

That’s not to say that Jon wouldn’t be upset if they were to end it – he loves Ygritte…or he did…he’s not really sure when his feelings changed, but they have, little by little. But would his heart be shattered? Could he envisage a future for himself without her? These are questions that he knows he hides the answers to. And sooner or later he’s going to have to expose those answers to both himself and Ygritte – it’s not fair on either of them really.

“How is Ygritte anyway?” Sansa asks, bringing him out of his thoughts. “I haven’t seen her for ages! I miss her.”

Jon forced a smile onto his face. “You only miss her because you two tag team in taking the piss out of me when we all get together.”

Sansa laughs. “Well, the girl does execute a perfect impression of you.”

“She makes me sound like one of those emo kids.”

“Oh honey,” she shakes her head affectionately at him, holding back her giggles, “you are the king of the emo kids.”

 

 


	3. Invitation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another short chapter.

**_Two months later…._ **

Even though he knew it was coming, he still felt the jolt of shock. Him and Ygritte had had another row last night and said not one word to each other in the morning before separately heading off to work. Jon stopped at the breakfast diner to meet with Sansa as usual on a Wednesday. She could tell that something had been troubling him but he waved her off, not really wanting to recount the stupid things that both he and his girlfriend had said the evening before.

But now…well now she wasn’t even his girlfriend any more. Jon looked down at the note in his hand. He should have expected it. And yet he felt a dull ache all the same.

_Jon,_

_I am sorry. I truly am. Sorry that I am telling this to you in the form of a note – but if I put this off any longer, I may not be able to muster the courage to do it to your face. This is for the best, Jon. You know it, and I know it. Both of us have been drifting in different directions for the past year and a half, and I don’t think either of us have the energy left to try and get back to where we were at the beginning of the relationship._

_Perhaps you’ll prove me wrong. Perhaps you’ll run after me and promise that we can both make changes to get back to how we used to be. But I don’t think so. And I’m not even sure if I would want you to._

_I don’t blame you, and I hope that you don’t place fault at me either. I think that maybe, when we found each other 3 years ago, we were both searching for an everlasting love and were too quick to label what we had under the same category._

_We are both very different people. We knew that from the beginning. But instead of our opposite qualities complimenting each other like I had thought they might, we were clashing – quietly sometimes, but we did._

_I will always love you, Jon Snow. But it’s not enough._

_Yg_

Jon read and re-read the letter. Their apartment looked practically bare. Ygritte must have come back from work in the morning to pack up all her things. There was nothing of her now. Even the photographs of them both had been taken by her, framed by her and hung up on the walls by her – why shouldn’t she have taken them? She had vanished completely. Jon deliberated with himself but eventually send a text message.

**_I read your note and I understand. I am sorry too. Please at least let me know that you are somewhere safe?_ **

Jon went to the fridge to get a beer, almost snickering mirthlessly to find that Ygritte had made him a whole lasagne and left it in there for him. Sansa had tipped her off early in their relationship that it was his favourite, so she cooked it for him often – when he’d had a bad day at work, after they’d had a row, or if she had something special planned for them that evening. Jon didn’t have the heart to tell her that he prefers the way Sansa cooks it. He pulled out a bottle and popped the cap, taking a swig before his phone buzzed with Ygritte’s answering text.

**_I’m with my cousin Tormund at Blackcastle. I don’t think I’ll need to come back for anything but please can you forward my mail? I am currently making plans to go travelling for a bit. I hope you find happiness, Jon. I will always hope that for you._ **

Jon placed his bear on the kitchen counter and typed out a reply.

**_Yes, I can do that. And I hope you find what you’re looking for too, Yg. I will miss you._ **

He read his short text back to himself. It was true – he will miss her, but he couldn’t help but feel that part of him was a little lighter now that the decision had been made. Shame flooded him for being a bloody coward and leaving it up to Ygritte to be the one to make the move.

Jon sighed and took up his beer again, wandering out to the little table in the hallway where he had seen Ygritte had placed his mail. He flipped through the envelopes, mentally counting off _“bill, bank statement, bill, bill,”_ until he came to a pale blue envelope with baby pink spots. Jon furrowed his brow, it felt like a card, but it wasn’t his birthday for another 6 months or so. It was addressed to both Ygritte and himself and by the looks of it, she had opened it and stuffed whatever it was back inside the envelope, deeming it being primarily for Jon and not herself.

“What the fuck?” he muttered as he slid out the card from within, dozens of fluttering bits of pink and blue confetti falling to cover his feet. He did a double-take at the scraps on the floor – they were shaped like little tadpoles and his brain was too slow to connect the dots. He opened the card to read it.

_SOMEONE’S GETTING KNOCKED UP!_

_To Jon and Yg!_

_You are invited to come help celebrate with Sansa Stark at her insemination party on Friday!..._

The card carried on with the usual invitation spiel -  Sansa’s apartment address and how to get there, what time etc. Jon stared blankly at the words for what must have been a solid two minutes before looking back down at the confetti sperm at his feet. He whipped out his phone and made a call to Sansa.

“I know what you’re going to say,” she answered instantly without a single greeting or prompt from himself, “and you can blame Margaery for it all. It was her idea.”

“Oh really?”

“Yes!” she huffed on the other end of the line, “I tracked my charts and mentioned to her that I think I’m ovulating soon, and she had this crazy idea for an insemination party…and I just thought ‘what the heck’! Why not? It’s not like I’m doing any of this the conventional way anyway.”

This was all too much information at once to Jon. It doesn’t seem like five minutes ago he was helping her dissect those donor files, trying to route out each candidate’s possible flaws – and now she’s casually throwing out words like _ovulation_ and _insemination?_ Jon pinched the bridge of his nose. What had she said again? She tracked charts? Is that what was making her so damned eager to rush ahead with this? “You tracked your charts?” he said dumbly down the phone.

“Yeah. My monthly cycle, my basal temperature and my-“ Sansa paused to cough, “-cervical mucus.”

“Oh wow, I really did not need to know about that,” Jon responded quickly, his brows sky high.

Sansa laughed. “Well _you_ asked…honestly, it’s serious stuff this baby-making business, you know.”

“Yeah. It’s not like these things happen by accident all the time” he said dryly

“Har-har. So, are you coming to the party?”

“I guess so,” Jon looked around his empty apartment with the phone pressed to his ear, he debated quickly with himself as to whether or not to tell her about Ygritte but decided not to pierce her bubble of happiness. Knowing Sansa, she might postpone the party or something in favour of comforting him, and he just didn’t want to do that to her right now. He did feel a little lonely though. “Hey, can I crash at yours afterwards? I’ll help clean up and we can nurse each other’s hangovers on the couch like the good ol’ times back when-“

“I’d love to do that Jon…but do you really wanna stick around for the _‘after’_ part?” Sansa said, interrupting the spew of words that were getting away from him in his eagerness of his own nostalgic idea.

“The after part?” Jon asked, confused.

“Yeah, the…insemination.”

Jon blinked down at the invitation still in his hand. “Insemination?”

“Jon, what exactly did you think an ‘ _insemination party’_ was?”

“Something completely made up,” he admitted. “Honestly, Sans – I thought we were just celebrating your fertility and-and _ovulation_ or whatever hippy notion Marge is peddling at the moment. I never thought you’d-….at your _apartment?!_ So _soon?!_ Is that even _safe?!”_ Jon spluttered, feeling utterly aghast.

“First of all, _Jonathan_ ,” Sansa started in that tone she used when she thought he was overreacting to something, “it’s completely safe. Dickon’s brother and sister-in-law own their own fertility clinic and are qualified to perform the procedure on me after everyone has left. And secondly, it’s not _‘so soon’_ – It’s been two months since you helped me pick the donor and I’ve met with Dickon three times since – we’ve agreed on what would be expected of him and I don’t think any further discussion is needed.”

Jon gaped. The hinge of his jaw working absentmindedly as his mouth opened and closed a few times. Yes – Sansa had met with Dickon, and by her account she couldn’t find any fault with him. She’d asked Jon what sort of questions she should ask him to try and fill in any cracks of information from his donor file. Jon had made a few suggestions but had hoped to actually meet the man in person himself before, before-

“Honestly Jon!” Sansa said, bringing him out of his thoughts, “I just want to hurry up and actually _be_ pregnant instead of _talking about it_ and _reading about it_ and-and… _fantasising about it!_...is that so hard to understand?” she finished quietly.

Jon swallowed painfully. “No Sansa,” he said softly, “it’s not.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok - did anyone else feel for Ygritte? I did and I wrote the bloody thing! lol


	4. Juice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First off - HAPPY BIRTHDAY RINA!!
> 
> Secondly - this is the longest chapter so far in this fic but was just SO MUCH FUN to write! (If you've seen the film then I'm sure you know why lol)

Jon knocked on the door to Sansa’s apartment, he could hear people talking and laughing as well as the faint notes of party music. The door yanked open with a woosh and before him stood the beaming face of none other than one Margaery Tyrell. “Glad you could make it, Snow!” she laughed, unlooping one of many leis that hung around her neck and lifting it over his head.

Jon blinked down at the intense pink ruffled petals that stood out glaringly against his all-black attire.

“Carnations,” Margaery provided, “to symbolize motherhood and motherly love.”

“Right,” Jon snorted before sniffing the air and wrinkling his nose. “ _What_ is that?”

“Joss sticks,” Margaery giggled and twirled – a little unsteadily Jon might add, the movement making him dart an arm forward to try and right her before she fell. Margaery mistook his action and reached out for him, yanking him close and dramatically draping her body against him like they were about to do the rumba together. “Patchouli, poppy seed and rose,” she said before keeping ahold of his hand above her head and twirling away, only to twist back again, bracing her hand on his chest. “The perfect combination for heightened fertility,” Margaery giggled, blowing a few strands of hair away from her smiling face.

“Put him down for God’s sakes woman,” came the voice of Theon as he sauntered forwards, clad in his own lei and clutching two beers. Margaery untangles herself from Jon and wafts away like the swirling smoke from one of her joss sticks. Theon passes Jon one of the bottles and Jon is more than grateful to receive it. Something tells him he’s going to need something a little harder soon too.

“Some shindig huh?” Theon asked as they pushed past other party goers to make it to the living room. “What happened to the days when girls used to get knocked up from a one-night stand?” He paused to take a pull from his beer, “now we’ve got to gather our nearest and dearest before some bloke’s baby gravy gets shot up Sansa’s-“

Jon raised a hand, halting Theon’s disgusting tirade of words. “Can you not?”

Theon snorted. “I offered my own services. But alas, she turned me down.”

“No-one wants to be impregnated by you, Theon,” Jon remarked as he looked around the room, taking in the party décor. There was a large bronze statue of The Mother depicted naked with a round belly and engorged breasts, it was surrounded by a display of candles and more carnations. A splay of incense sticks burned at her feet.

“Does Marge just have stuff like that lying around on the off chance or…?” Jon murmured, nodding his head in the direction of the statue before tipping his bottle up to his mouth and scanning the room to try and find Sansa.

“That’s nothing,” Theon snickered following Jon’s inclination towards the display, “there’s pictures of pussy everywhere – and not the good kind either…like lady bits made out of flowers ‘n’ shit.”

Jon said nothing but raised his brows, prompting Theon to lead him to the counter top in the kitchen that had been set up with the drinks and snacks. There were cupcakes with little royal icing sperms on them and some form of smoked salmon canape organised to look like a tray of vulvas.

“Wow,” was all that Jon could say as he shook his head and glugged a good portion of liquid from his bottle.

“No Yg, then?” Theon asked.

“Nah…we…well we kind of split, actually. She’s staying with her cousin up north until she sorts out her travelling plans.”

Theon looked sympathetic until his eyes roamed Jon up and down. “You don’t look too cut up about it,” he stated.

Jon swigged the last of his beer and reached over to the bottle of Jack (if he’s going to have to analyse his love-life with Theon of all people, he’s going to need some liquor). “It was kind of a mutual thing,” he shrugged, pouring the amber drink into a plastic cup, “we had both grown apart.”

Theon nodded. “that’s what happened to me and Ros,” he commented.

Jon’s brows knit together. “I thought she found you in bed with Myranda?”

“Well, yeah. That too,” he grinned.

Jon shook his head at his friend just as he noticed a tall, broad shouldered guy standing in the kitchen, looking a little lost with a bottle of wine in one hand. The man turned and Jon knew him instantly from the photograph in his file.

“Hey man,” he said once he realised Jon had been looking at him, “do you know where Sansa keeps her corkscrew?”

“Second drawer from the fridge,” Jon answered with a tilt of his cup in the right direction.

The man opened the drawer and fished around until he came up trumps. “Thanks,” he beamed, coming over with an outstretched hand, “I’m Dickon by the way, I’m…well, I’m going to be the father of Sansa’s baby.”

“Hey,” Jon said, trying desperately not to give in to the urge to squeeze Dickon’s hand too tightly, “I’m Jon, Sansa’s best friend.”

“Oh, that’s…well, that’s great,” Dickon answered with a smile and a nod before turning to greet Theon.

The three of them stood in conversation for a while, Jon staying mostly quiet, nodding along and silently assessing Dickon – for what, he wasn’t sure, but his presence rankled him and he found himself finishing his drink far too quickly and making himself another one.

“So, yeah, it’s great that Sansa’s moving back up to Winterfell because my base is at Castle Cerwyn when I’m not deployed and it will be good to-“

“Whoa, Whoa!” Jon shook his head, his hands held up to try and get Dickon to just shut the fuck up and back track for a second. “Wait…Sansa’s _what?!”_

Just then, the stereo was turned up in the lounge area, the lyrics from _‘Papa don’t preach’_ being sung by what seemed like nearly every woman currently at the party. Jon poked his head through to the next room to see Sansa amongst a gaggle of her female friends, dancing and singing to the music _‘I know, I’m keeping ma baby!’_ Jon gaped at her. She looked stunning – glowing really. And happy - _so happy_. She wore a plain cotton pale lemon yellow sundress and her hair lose. There were at least half a dozen different coloured leis around her neck and a circlet of little white flowers on top of her head, making her look like some kind of ethereal goddess or woods nymph.

“Jon!” Sansa exclaimed excitedly once their eyes met and she noticed him standing there for the first time. She rushed over to him, leaving her singing and dancing friends behind and flung her arms around his neck. “You came!”

“Yeah,” he said, gently easing her away from him, “what’s this about you moving back up north?”

“Oh,” Sansa looked up at him with wide, guilty eyes. “I was going to tell you.”

“Why didn’t you?”

Sansa finally relinquished her grasp around his neck and let out a sigh. “I’ve just been so happy lately and…well, I don’t know…I didn’t want to _stop_ being happy. And moving back home to raise the baby _is_ the right choice for us both…but, it also means not living so close to you anymore and…well I guess I just wanted to live in denial of that fact for a little while longer.” Jon stared at her as it looked like she was trying to figure out just how mad he was about this. He wasn’t sure himself. “Can you forgive me?” she asked, looking down at her feet.

Jon closed his eyes and huffed out of his nose before bringing her in for a tight hug. “Aye, I forgive you. What am I going to do without you?” he murmured into her hair and kissed the side of her head. “I’ll miss you, Stark.”

“You’re not getting rid of me that easy, Snow” Sansa said, rearing back to look at him, her eyes looking a little glassy. “Me and the little one will come to visit. And of course, you’ll still come up for Christmas and Birthdays…Oh! And we can skype!”

“Hey,” Dickon came over, interrupting their conversation. Jon tensed his jaw and tried to reign in his scowl as Sansa untangled herself from Jon and beamed up at Dickon. “So umm…” Jon watched as he leant down to whisper in Sansa’s ear, making her cheeks turn a pretty shade of pink as she nodded vigorously before whispering something back. “Thanks. I’ll umm…be as fast as I can” he said, squeezing Sansa’s shoulder in an affectionate way that Jon didn’t like at all.

“Take your time!” Sansa called after him, biting her lip to try and stop the grin from spreading on her face.

“What was that all about?” Jon asked, gulping down the last of his drink and contemplating his next.

“What?”

“ _That._ The whispering.”

“Oh that!...Umm…Dickon’s just going to the bathroom to err… _’extract his essence’_ ”

“Extract his-?” Jon repeated before making a face of distaste once he’d realised what she was implying. “Don’t call it that Sans,” he said, shaking his head and wrinkling his nose. He’s _definitely_ going to need more drink tonight.

“What? _‘essence’_? What should I call it then? His _‘juice’_?”

“I mean,” Jon sucked in a breath and cocked his head to the side, “that’s only _mildly_ better, but I’ll take it.”

Sansa laughed and swatted his chest playfully, making him smile, momentarily forgetting what this party was all about and what it would mean. Jon’s smile drops, and he gently takes up her hand. “Are you sure about all this, Sans?”

“I am,” she says confidently before her arms return to around his neck and she’s embracing him again. “I’ll miss you too,” she whispers into his ear. She leaves him with a peck on his cheek as she returns to the rest of the party, dancing and singing along with her friends, smiling at Jon when she catches him staring at her. He tips his drink in acknowledgement and returns her fond expression.

“What’s gotten you looking glummer than usual?” Margaery purrs from out of nowhere, 2 hours and many, many drinks later as Jon was propping himself up against the wall alone.

Jon does little else but shrug in acknowledgement and takes another gulp of his drink – some kind of strong fruity punch he’d ladled from the bowl. It had little ice cube sperms bobbing in it.

Margaery looks from Jon, to where the object of his deathly glare was landing. Dickon. He had been near enough glued to Sansa’s side all evening (when she wasn’t belting out songs at the top of her lungs and twirling around like a lunatic. Jon preferred the lunatic Sansa). Right now, he was by her side again as he chatted with two other women that Jon is sure attend the same yoga class as Sansa. He ground his teeth together when  Dickon’s hand brushed against the small of Sansa’s back.

“Aaaah,” Margaery commented knowingly. “You know, if you weren’t with Yg, I’m pretty sure that would be you.”

“What?” Jon blinks, snapping out of his simmering thoughts.

Margaery tips her cup and sways a little on her feet. “Sansa would totally have your baby if you were up for it…and free and single of course.”

“I…” he starts, only to snap his mouth shut and frown at himself, his gaze travelling back to where Sansa stands with Dickon, animated in her conversation.

“You’d make a really good dad too,” she hiccups, “one of those hot ones like in the calendars where you’re shirtless and cradling a naked baby in your big man muscles,” she continues, mimicking a swinging cradle with her arms as she wobbles a bit where she stands.

Jon smiles briefly at that, but then Sansa’s laugh carries over the murmur and music and he’s drawn back to where she looks so happy – _so fucking happy._ And his scowl returns.

Margaery tuts and mutters to herself, shaking her head as her hand disappears into her cleavage to rummage around in her bra. “Here,” she says, producing a small half opened pill packet, “take one of these,” she pops one out of the packaging into Jon’s palm.

“What is it?”

“Herbal…mainly…,” Margaery smirks back at him, “it’ll just give you a nice buzz and make you forget your woes for a while.”

Jon goes to pocket the pill with no intention of ingesting such a thing when he sees Dickon sling an arm around Sansa’s shoulders as she gazes back up at him. He’s hit with the realisation of her moving away from him all over again and the dramatic swoop he feels in his stomach has everything to do with his emotions about the situation and little to do with the amount of alcohol he’s consumed. The pill gets thrown into his mouth and washed down with a glug of punch.

An hour later and he’s pushing past people on his way to the bathroom, banging on the closed door as he gets there. Someone shouts something from behind it but in his state, he doesn’t register the words. Instead he fixates on the decorative hanging on the door – a depiction of The Mother, heavily pregnant and with flowers on her lady parts. Jon snorts and thumps on the door again.

“OCCUPIED!” the person shouts once more, “USE THE OTHER BATHROOM!”

Jon nods to himself before hobbling off unsteadily on his feet to Sansa’s bedroom where he knows she has an en-suite.

Staggering into her room, Jon takes a bleary eyed second or two just to blink at the sheer girly perfection of it all. The pale lemon-yellow sheets on her bed match the geometric yellow rug on the light grey carpeted floor. And the white painted vanity unit goes perfectly with her intricately carved headboard that he remembers she restored herself from a reclamation yard she’d dragged him to once.

Jon takes a long inhale and is pleased to be surrounded by the crisp clean scent of Sansa. He’s sorely tempted to just lay down on her soft bed and take a nap – he knows she wouldn’t mind. But he presses on none-the-less. As his unsteady feet take him across the room towards the door he’s sure hides her bathroom, he passes a large picture frame hung on the tasteful dusky lavender wall. It’s filled with a collage of smaller photographs that he squints to try and focus on. Jon reaches out to brace himself against the wall to keep him upright as he purveys the pictures in front of him. There’s some of her family and friends, but a lot of them are of him and her from their Uni days together. It makes him smile as he recalls all the times they’d partied or studied together…or just simply hung out.

The bathroom wobbled in front of him as Jon slipped through the door to Sansa’s en-suite. He closed the door with an unintentional slam and fell back against it. Screwing his eyes shut, he let out a muttered _‘fuck’_ as his head continued to spin.

Opening his eyes felt like a mistake. The pristine white of Sansa’s bathroom tiles were blinding him, so he closed them again with a groan, praying that the floor would cease its incessant rocking.

What had he come in here for again? Jon blinked and focused on the bath ahead of him. There was a shower curtain hung up at one end - it was pale duck-egg blue and matched the fluffy towels on the rail beside him. The curtain was decorated with little cartoon lemons with smiley faces and it was so damned ‘Sansa’ it made his lopsided smile broaden across his numb face. His eyes wandered haphazardly around the small room, landing on the toilet. Oh, that’s right - he needed to take a piss.

Jon let slip a small belch and unzipped his fly, bracing himself against the wall above the cistern. He glanced up to where his hand rested. There were charts and lists stuck to the wall - the information of which, Jon could not focus his eyes on.

After flushing the toilet, Jon wobbled over to the sink to wash his hands, turning the tap with far too much force, meaning he ended up splashing water all over his crotch.

“Fuck!” He muttered for the second time, his curse bouncing off the tiles. Jon’s booze-soaked brain managed to reassure himself that as he was in all black, the damp patch wasn’t noticeable anyway - so he’s all good. He let out a small celebratory chuckle.

Jon finished washing his hands with lavender soap that smelt like Sansa and braces his hands on either side of the sink as he stared at his reflection in the mirror. He watched the image blink slowly back at himself as his mind decided to wander back to his painful Sansa-less future.

Jon tipped forward with a groan, his forehead hitting the cool glass of the mirror with a dull thud. What _the fuck_ is he going to do without his friend? He had others - sure. But _Sansa?_ She’s irreplaceable in Jon’s life - they see each other at least three times a week, she’s his link back to his roots in the north, she’s the only one who can make him smile so freely, she’s his constant, his anchor, she’s…she’s…

A small flickering light caught Jon’s attention out of the corner of his eye, he swiveled his head as it continued to rest against the mirror. There was a little wall mounted shelf to his left, full of pretty little bottles of perfumes and lotions - quite innocuous really. But that wasn’t what caught his eye.

Jon straightened up and squinted at the little arrangement before him. There, on the shelf, was a sample pot. He probably wouldn’t have even noticed it, if it wasn’t for the two small flickering flames of the lit candles and the odd bright pink carnation displayed around the pot like some sort of shrine.

Jon snickered to himself and shook his head. The pot was placed in the centre of some sort of device that even on Jon’s state, he surmised must be for temperature regulation.

He chuckled at the display again. _Seven Hells, Sansa,_ he thought, _it’s just jizz, not the tears of a deity._ Jon’s head wobbled as he looked back over at the charts on the wall. Letting out a long huff through his nose, he conceded to himself that to Sansa, it was more than that.

Picking up the pot, Jon frowned down at it in his hand, his eyes barely able to focus on the writing on the label. He homes in on the word ‘Dickon’ and let out an involuntary snarl.

Without much thought, Jon took off the lid and peered inside. There wasn’t as much _‘juice’_ as he’d anticipated, and the obscenely macho competitive side, that he can normally keep in check, felt triumphant. It’s _ridiculous_ really - and he knows it. But he can’t help but let that childish feeling swell when he thinks that he’s capable of a much larger quantity of _‘juice’_ per _‘portion’_.

Jon swills the sample pot around, latching onto this one small infantile victory over Dickon, desperately trying to ignore the voice reminding him that it doesn’t matter anyway, because Dickon will be the father of Sansa’s child, and they’re going to have just the most _magical_ existence _together_ up north while he festers alone down south, with nothing but the heat and his copious amounts of _‘juice’_ to comfort him.

Jon hiccups and fumbles with the pot, almost dropping it. The close-call making his heart thud fast in his chest as he thinks ‘imagine if I _had_ dropped it?! Sansa would _kill me_! All Dickon’s little swimmers gone down the drai-‘

“SOMEONE IN THERE?”

Jon jumped out of his skin, the open pot slipping from his grasp and clattering against the porcelain of the sink. “Shit!”

The door handle rattles as Jon’s staring at the liquid dripping from the plastic container and making its way to the plug hole.

“HEY! IS SOMEBODY IN THERE?! I NEED TO PEE!”

“Uh, um, I’m in here!” Jon shouts back, still frozen in place. He lunges unsteadily for the pot only to knock the tap, sending a jet of water into the sink, washing the last of Dickon’s ‘swimmers’ away.

“ _Fuuuuuck!”_

For a long time, all Jon does is stare at the lonely sample pot as it lays there on it’s side in the sink. He sways and wobbles a bit where he stands, but his hands are grasping at his face in horror as all he can think is a slew of profanities. He gingerly picks up the pot to inspect the inside – completely empty. The curse words hurtling through his drink addled brain are joined by his pulse roaring in his ears as panic grips him and near enough makes his eyes bug out and his mouth go dry.

“OK, ok,” he says, trying desperately to calm himself. Thoughts of going back out to the party and tapping Dickon on the shoulder to ask him if he’s up for producing some ‘reserves’ flits briefly through his mind, until he flinches at the thought and it’s quickly discarded.

For an extremely fleeting moment he eyes Sansa’s bottle of shampoo, but swiftly dismisses the sapling of a stupid idea because he _knows_ that whatever it is that Sansa puts on her hair, it will smell divine – like orange blossoms and strawberries – and that _might_ just be a bit of a tip off to the doc and his wife. Plus, he’s pretty sure no one ever got pregnant via hair care products, but that’s beside _the point_. His brain is doing the best it can with what he’s got in his sorry state.

Sinking to the floor with a groan, Jon leans against the bathroom door, his head in one hand and the barren sample pot in the other. _Sansa really wanted that jizz,_ he thinks mournfully, _she’s going to be so fucking upset…I need…I need to get her some more-_

His gaze lands in his own lap as a metaphoric drunken lightbulb blinked on above his head _. Oh._

Dragging himself from the cold tiled floor, Jon places the sample pot unsteadily on the side of the sink before unbuckling his belt, unzipping his fly and seating himself on the closed lid of the toilet. _She wants ‘juice’, I can give her ‘juice’,_ his numb mind thinks as he’s too slow and groggy to connect the correct dots and convinces himself that it’s what anyone would do for their best friend.

Grabbing his half hard cock, Jon gives himself a few strokes, closing his eyes and licking his lips as he prepares to visit the ‘wank bank’ for inspiration. Visions of that time back in college when he’d fooled around with that brunette in the frat house pantry, with her on her knees in front of him came to mind. It wasn’t the most x-rated thing from Jon’s memory, but it usually did the trick. He remembers carding his hands through her hair but as his mind recounted his fingers slipping through the strands of her locks, the chestnut brown of it morphed to an auburn red and instead of the hazel eyes that had gazed lustily up at him while her mouth slid up and down his cock, they were crystal blue. _Sansa,_ his mind sighed. This happened occasionally (more than occasionally if he were being 100% truthful), but Jon is usually able to force himself to stop the image from completely materialising and risk sullying his friendship with his sordid fantasies.

But this time he can’t.

Jon puts it down to the drink and that infernal pill that Marge slipped him. It’s not his fault. He would stop it if he could. And yet he can’t deny that his cock is harder when he allows the fantasy woman in his mind to transform completely into one Miss Sansa Stark - complete with those dusting of freckles he knows lays across the bridge of her nose.

He imagines her humming appreciatively around his cock as his strokes come faster. Jon’s mouth goes slack, and he turns his face up towards the ceiling as he falls completely for the vision behind his eyelids. Something about the movement makes his inebriated state even more unsteady on his perch and he almost falls off the seat of the toilet, knocking into Sansa’s laundry basket as he rights himself.

His already red face, flush with the beginnings of self-sexual pleasure, heats even further when he spots the purple lace from within the basket. His hand reaches out, only to detract. _No, he can’t do that,_ he reminds himself, _he’s not a complete perv…and yet…_

He deliberates for a few seconds, his hand slowing it’s movement up and down his cock as he eyes the scrap of fabric. _It would help things along,_ he argues with himself, acknowledging the fact that the very ‘naughtiness’ of it all is already exciting him thoroughly.

Tentatively picking up the purple lace underwear, Jon brings it to his nose and groans aloud, his hand beginning to pump faster in his lap. There’s no guilty barrier for his mind to overcome now, it’s all _Sansa, Sansa, Sansa_ as he imagines what it would be like to go to town between her thighs, or what his name would sound like on a sinful cry from her lips. He can feel his balls tighten on the thought alone; couple that with her scent and the pure forbidden nature of this act and Jon almost forgets the whole purpose of this foray into self-pleasure.

He swipes the pot just in time. “S-Sans-“ he lets out on a broken cry before he stops himself voicing her name by biting down hard on his bottom lip. The small bathroom filling with his grunts as Jon fills the little plastic cup with his release.

He holds the pot up, panting as he inspects the contents. A drunkenly smug grin spreading across his face when he realises it’s twice as full as it was when he’d walked into the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK - quick note - I deliberated with adding a conversation between Theon and Jon where they talk about what the other Starks think of Sansa's decision, but I couldn't get the dialogue to my liking so here it is instead - They all know about the donor baby plan and are supportive even though they find it a little odd. Mostly, Cat is just chuffed to pieces that Sansa is moving back up north so that she can help out with her grandbaby. They haven't met Dickon yet but Sansa has told them plenty about him and they like that he is in the military.


	5. Yesterday is so far away

“Wakey-wakey sleeping beauty!” Jon heard right next to his ear. A cracked groan was released from his throat before he rolled over and pulled the duvet on top of his head.

“Jon, _it’s 2pm!”_ came the voice again. He let out a non-committal whine but stayed cocooned within his warm blanket underworld - not interested or willing to engage with anything that lay beyond his sleepy fortress.

The sudden addition if a weight on top of him caused a surprised grunt to escape before the blanket was whipped from his face and a world of light assaulted him. “Fuck!” he hissed as he pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes

“Well hello to you too,” the weight on top of him chuckled. A pair of hands curled around his wrists and pried his hands from his face.

After a while, Jon tested the waters by venturing to crack open one of his tightly shut eyes. He was met by two sparkling blue eyes peering down at him, and a smile that had no business looking so amused when he was feeling like he’d been savaged by a pack of rabid badgers. “Seven fucking Hells,” he grumbled.

“Good afternoon Sansa, thank you for the cup of tea Sansa, my apologies for passing out in your bed Sansa,” the owner of the dazzling blue eyes quipped in a sarcastic tone.

“What?” Jon raised his head to survey his surroundings, only to realize that his body was not ready for that kind of strenuous movement just yet. He did, however, get a good enough look to recognise Sansa’s bedroom and her pale buttercup yellow bedding that covered him. “Shit” Jon groaned, “how did I-?”

Sansa chuckled from above where she straddled him. “Well, after most people left, Theon came looking for you and found you all snuggled up in my bed-“

“Oh Gods.”

“-he tried to get you out, but you point blank refused, you were so out of it!”

“I’m so sorry, Sans” Jon groaned, covering his face with his hands.

“It was quite amusing actually,” she said, sounding thoroughly entertained. “You were mumbling on and on about something when he was trying to physically pick you up and get you home. In the end he gave up and filmed you instead. Don’t be surprised if you end up on YouTube.”

Jon grabbed Sansa’s duvet and encased his head once more. “I’m not human enough to deal with any of that right now,” he grumbled, his head feeling like he’d stuck it in a cement mixer and his pulse thrumming thickly in his ears. He could hardly remember anything about last night, save for Sansa looking radiant as she danced and sang…and he’d been in a foul mood which had led him to drink – why was that again? _Oh!_ He thought suddenly, a barrage of memories assaulted him, such as the ridiculous décor, Margaery’s joss sticks and the pill she’d offered…and Dickon Tarly’s hand on the small of Sansa’s back. The whole reason for last night’s shin-dig abruptly lit up in flashing neon-sign clarity. He gingerly lowered the blanket and peeped up at Sansa. “Did you do it?” he asked.

“Do what?” Sansa grinned.

Jon dropped the duvet now, completely uncovering his face to see her better. His eyes flitted down to her abdomen briefly before they returned to her baby blues. “You know,” he nodded his head towards her stomach, “did you…did the doctor…perform the procedure?”

Sansa’s answering smile was soft with an element of excitement. She nodded and looked down, a curtain of auburn hair fell from behind her ear and skimmed the side of her face. Sansa swept it back to it’s original position and met Jon’s eyes once more.

“So…you’re… _’with child’_?”

Sansa laughed at that. “Um…the Middle Ages called, and they want their phrase back Jon,” she said, her hand mimicking a telephone up to her ear.

Jon grinned, bringing his arms out from beneath her covers to briefly squeeze her legs that lay at either side of him. “The Middle Ages have phones now do they?” he chuckled, “you know what I meant.”

Sansa bit her bottom lip. “I might be,” she offered, visibly trying to contain herself, an electric current of elation buzzing underneath the surface of her skin. “I’m trying not to get my hopes up. Dr. Tarly said that I might not conceive this time around but he’ll get more samples from Dickon and store them at the clinic for me.”

“But you could be,” Jon’s gaze fixed on her flat stomach again.

“Yes!” Sansa squealed, unable to contain herself. She rolled off Jon to lay on her back next to him on top of the duvet. “In nine months’ time, I could be a Mum!” Sansa exclaimed excitedly.

Jon turned his head to look at her. “You’ll make a fantastic Mum, do you know that?”

“I hope so,” Sansa responded, turning her head to look him in the eye. Jon felt his heart stutter. He was surrounded by everything Sansa and her being shoulder to shoulder on her bed, with their eyes meeting across the pillows just seemed too much. He took a steadying breath and returned his gaze to the ceiling with a confused frown. Sansa mimicked his action, although he suspects she wore a wide smile on her face to contrast with his own expression.

“Well this is all very domesticated isn’t it?” Sansa remarks after a while of silence.

“Huh?”

“This.” She gestured at the both of them, “it’s like we’re lazing around as a married couple in bed…except-“ Sansa turned onto her side and propped her head up on her arm, “I’ve got a terrible confession to make darling,” she said dramatically as she looked down at him, one hand coming to rest on Jon’s chest, “I may-“ Sansa took a large gulp,”-be pregnant with another man’s child!” she declared theatrically, throwing her head back, her hand laying forlornly across her brow.

Jon snorted despite the gnawing in his gut. He then regretted the action. “Don’t make me laugh,” he whined, “everything hurts.”

Sansa snickered next to him. “Serves you right for drinking so much! You were knocking them back!” Her voice quietened then as she turned on her side once more, “I’m sorry about Ygritte.” Jon looked at her, his brow knitted in confusion for a moment as he guiltily realized that his now ex girlfriend hadn’t even crossed his mind. “Theon told me,” she supplied softly.

“Yeah, well, Theon says a lot of things,” Jon swallowed as he came to stare back up at the ceiling.

“Is that why you drank so much? Because of the break up?” Sansa asked.

 _No,_ Jon thought instantly, _it’s because you’re moving on and leaving me behind. It’s because you won’t just be a five-minute walk away from my apartment. It’s because you’re going to be a great Mum and I won’t be around to see that – to really see it…and maybe be a part of it._

“Something like that,” Jon croaked before offering her a small smile. “Anyway,” he said, pushing himself up to sit, every muscle in his body protesting – especially his aching head, “It’ll teach me for taking anything Marge offers me.”

“You took one of those?” Sansa asked, sitting bolt upright, the movement of it making Jon feel a little seasick. “Why on earth did you do that?! You remember what happened on my 25th when I took something from Marge?!”

“Yeah,” he chuckled, “you marched right up to that cop and asked -no, _demanded_ \- that he arrest me for being _‘offensively cute’_ …then you changed your mind and broke down crying - _Pleading_ with the poor guy _not_ to lock me up because – _and I quote_ \- I’m _‘too pretty’_ and would have to become somebody’s bitch to survive _‘the slammer’_.”

Sansa beamed at him. “Well…I wasn’t wrong.”

“Yeah well,” Jon laughed, “I had to prize you away from clutching at that cop’s leg, otherwise I’m pretty sure you would have been done for disturbing the peace. You made quite the scene.”

“I don’t remember any of that.”

Jon rubbed at his beard and glanced at the pile of his clothes all folded neatly on the stool at Sansa’s vanity unit. He wondered who had managed to undress him in his drunken state. “No, I don’t remember much about last night either.”


	6. That's not what you think it means

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> bit of a fluffy chapter for you :-)

Jon had returned to his apartment for a quick shower and change of clothes. He’d felt a tad more human since Sansa had forced a bacon sandwich and some strong coffee down his throat. They’d decided that they would write the rest of the day off with each other by staying in and lounging around on Sansa’s couch, watching films and probably ordering take out. He was eager to get back to her.

Jon stared hard at himself in the mirror in the hall before he was to leave his place once again. It had been years since he’d drunk himself into such a stupor that there were gaping black holes in his memory. He was much older now and his body was screaming its protest against the ordeal he’d put it through. He squinted at his reflection, willing the story of last night to knit itself back together. He remembered wanting to drown his sorrows, he remembered wanting to forget that Sansa was soon to move to the other end of the country, and he vaguely remembered Margaery saying something before she slipped him that infernal pill. What was it she’d said again? Something about Sansa and Dickon…it was about the baby…it was about Jon…about Jon being a father?

Jon shook his head. No matter how hard he concentrated, he was missing a good portion of his memories from last night and decided that perhaps it may be for the best that they stay hidden in the recesses of his mind – he’s sure to have made a complete fool of himself in one way or another.

His phone buzzed twice in his jeans pocket making him jump a little before he pulled it out. Theon had sent a link to a YouTube video he’d uploaded, the ellipses jumping to indicate that he was typing out a text…

 **Theon:** Whaddup Juice-meister-Jon! Got a sore head 2day? XD

 **Jon:** Something like that.

 **Jon:** Juice-meister?

 **Theon:** Yeah – u were goin on n on about spillin some juice somewhere in Sansa’s place n you needed to tell her – IDK WTF u were banging on about! It was pretty funny though – watch the video man!

 **Jon:** I’ll pass thanks.

 **Theon:** Suit urself! Sansa kick u outta her bed yet? U were makin urself awfully cozy. I was all for draggin u out of it to let u sleep it off on the floor but saint Sansa said you looked ‘too cute’ or whatvr. Tell me again why u 2 haven’t hooked up?

Jon sighed down at his phone and pocketed it once more, he’s not going to dignify Theon’s digging question with an answer. It was very clear why he and Sansa have never had that kind of relationship…wasn’t it? Shaking his head, Jon stored that train of thought away, hiding it to ponder over for another day. He ran his hand through his still slightly damp curls and grabbed his keys and set off to make his way back to Sansa’s apartment again.

Stopping off at the local convenience store that sat roughly halfway between their two apartments, Jon decided to buy a few things as offerings of an apology for his behaviour last night.  He grabbed the Highgarden Vineyard _rosé_ wine he knew she liked, as well as a tub of her favourite ice cream, stopping inside the patisserie next door for a box of assorted treats, making sure to choose everything lemon flavoured that they had on offer.

Jon stood at Sansa’s door with a grin, holding out the box of sweet treats in one hand and the plastic bag from the store in the other. “Donations from a remorseful drunken idiot,” he declared, handing over the goodies.

Sansa took them with a smile and a pleased girlish noise. If you pressed Jon hard enough, he may just admit that he loves those noises she makes – no one else he knows can sound so enthusiastic about baked goods as Sansa Stark. She indicated for him to come in and wandered through to the kitchen as Jon shucked his jacket and hung it on the row of hooks mounted on the wall – he noticed yet again that there was a hoodie of his and a scarf, both that he’d left behind by accident on previous occasions – he really should take those back home with him one day.

“Thank you, Jon,” Sansa said excitedly, opening the box with a gleeful look lighting up her face. She swiped a lemon turnover and took a bite. Sansa covered her mouth adorably as she chewed, her eyes sparkling back at him. Jon couldn’t help but smile in return.

Moving to the kitchen counter, Jon pulled the plastic bag towards himself, bringing out the tub of ice cream and waving it in front of Sansa before going to store it away in her freezer. Her mouth still occupied with its chewing, Sansa could only nod enthusiastically at his choice before she swallowed her bite. Jon moved to grab the wine next, knowing that Sansa would refuse to drink it unless it had been chilled.

“Oh, none of that for me, thanks,” she said, interrupting his autopilot mode.

“Huh? Did I get the wrong one?” Jon puzzled down at the label of the bottle in his hands.

“No, it’s just…well, I can’t can I?” her hand went to her stomach. “I mean, I might not be, and I know it probably wouldn’t make a difference if I am…but I want to be the healthiest I can be…in case there is a little one growing in there.”

Realisation hit Jon all over again like a ton of bricks. “Oh,” he said, blinking at her and then down at the wine again. “Yes…yeah, that makes sense.”

“You take it home with you,” Sansa offered.

Jon wrinkled his nose and gave her a smile. “Nah, I only ever drink the stuff with you. You know I prefer beer. Give it to Marge or someone the next time they’re ‘round.”

Sansa nodded and took another bite from her pastry.

“So…uh,” Jon started, “how long until you find out if you’re…if it worked?”

“Two weeks,” Sansa beamed, making Jon grin – her excitement was infectious.

Sansa urged Jon to make himself comfortable and choose a film for them to watch whilst she herself grabbed a quick shower. Jon flicked through the options on Netflix, an action movie caught his eye, but he knew Sansa wasn’t overly keen on anything with lengthy car chases, and judging by the description, this movie would contain a few of those. He carried on perusing the reels of films as he heard Sansa singing in the shower, her pretty voice being masked a little by the fall of the water. He smiled to himself, pausing his clicking just to sit and listen to her. Jon had always liked the sound of her voice. Even when they were all little – the whole Stark brood plus one Snow – her brothers and sister would groan when they were corralled out of the door to go and watch Sansa perform this musical or that with her amateur dramatics club. But Jon loved going. He hadn’t really gotten to spend too much time with her back then and it was clear that singing made her very happy up there on stage under the bright lights. And even as a young boy, Jon could acknowledge to himself that a happy Sansa Stark was a beautiful sight to behold.

The water was turned off and soon Sansa went quiet too. Not long after, she came padding out from her bedroom, her wet hair swept up in a duck egg blue towel. She wore dark grey soft stretchy yoga pants and a strappy white top. Jon averted his eyes pretty quickly as he’s sure she wasn’t wearing a bra and his eyes zoned in on the faint poke of nipple at her chest. He cleared his throat and grabbed the throw blanket from off the beck of Sansa’s sofa. “Here,” he said, handing it to her, all still folded up. Sansa looked down at his offering with a quizzical brow. “Um…you look cold,” he supplied, taking a glug of his bottled water.

Sansa shook her head to herself and took the blanket, arranging it on her lap – nowhere near covering up her chest, Jon noted. “You find a film for us?” she asked.

“Oh…uh…no.”

“Well, what were you doing all this time then?” Sansa laughed, swiping the remote from his grasp.

Jon answered her with a sheepish shrug and was only too happy to let Sansa pick what they would watch. Without realising what he was doing, Jon found himself staring at her. The expanse of pale creamy skin down her elegant neck, the dusting of freckles on the bridge of her nose and on the round of her shoulder, the long legs he knew were tucked up under herself and the blanket. His eyes skimmed her breasts more than once, and he loved the way that she bit her bottom lip as she was making her choice – her eyes glued to the screen. He focussed then on the towel artfully coiled around her head. He wished that she didn’t have it on because he does have an odd fascination with red hair…well…Sansa’s specifically if he’s being completely truthful. He’d liked Ygritte’s but Sansa’s was so silky looking and always smelt fantastic – like orange blossoms and strawberries. He scowled at the towel atop her head, the colour of it tugging at something within his mind. He can feel his memory grasping for something, yet it’s slippery and hard to get ahold of.

“How about this one?” Sansa asks, breaking Jon away from his internal struggle. Jon flicks his eyes to the Tv screen where Sansa had brought up some feel-good rom-com.

“Sure,” he shrugs. These types of movies can be pretty hit and miss whereas Jon’s concerned, but Sansa seems to love nearly every one of them – even the terrible ones.

“Excellent,” Sansa declares, “time to ‘Netflix and chill’.”

Jon chokes and splutters on his sip of water.

“What?”

“Sans…that’s…that doesn’t mean what you think it means,” Jon laughs, shaking his head.

Sansa furrows her brow to herself and Jon can practically see the cogs in her mind trying to figure out the puzzle, “what _does_ it mean then?”

Jon’s about to answer when he’s cut off by the sound of her apartment buzzer, announcing the arrival of their pizza. Sansa leaps up gleefully and goes to the door to collect it, coming back looking as happy as a clam.

“I’m going to miss you,” Jon blurts as she sets the pizza box down on her coffee table. He couldn’t help the words – they’d just kind of flew out of their own accord, the truth of them still stinging quite keenly.

“For my impeccable taste in pizza toppings?” Sansa quips.

“No,” Jon smiles, “you know what I mean…and you also know that I pick all the pineapple off my slices anyway, so your point is invalid.”

Sansa tuts dramatically. “Some people just have no taste,” she chuckles.

Jon snorts as he opens the box. Sansa leans forward instantly, eager to grab a slice. “I mean it though, Sans,” he says, picking at a piece of yellow pineapple and offering it up to her. “I don’t know what would be left here for me without you.”

“There’s plenty here for you without me, Jon.” Sansa protests, her eyes glancing between the large slice in her hands and the pineapple chunk that Jon offers her. He assumes she’ll hold out her piece of pizza for him to add the fruit to the top, but instead she leans over, taking the pineapple into her mouth, wrapping her lips around his fingers as she does so.

Jon’s a bit caught off-guard by the action and the feel of her warm wet mouth on his fingers. She’s mumbling something through her chewing but he’s not really listening. “Huh?” he says, blinking up at her from fixating on her mouth.

“I said your career is going great and you love living here. Don’t let me moving away get you down.”

“Oh,” Jon nods his head absentmindedly, “Yeah…yeah, sure” he says to himself.

“Hey,” Sansa says, placing her pizza slice back into the box and laying a delicate hand on his forearm, urging him to look back at her. “You know _why_ I want to move back don’t you?”

Jon bobbed his head. “For the…for your baby” he answered, willing the mental image of one Dickon Tarly to disappear from his mind.

“Yes. Because I want my baby to have a similar upbringing to the one I had. Full of family.” Sansa paused to squeeze his arm, “that includes you too, Jon. Don’t think you’re getting out of being an awesome pseudo-uncle to my little one. Just because we won’t live as close any more, doesn’t mean I’ll be out of your life completely.”

Jon’s smile slowly grows until he can’t really contain it any longer. “I’d like that,” he says, finding himself blushing and not really knowing why.

After they’d had a slice or two each, chatting a little while about some of the childhood memories they’d shared, and how each of Sansa’s siblings would be as aunty and uncles, Sansa relaxed into the sofa and pressed play on their selected film.

Jon wasn’t really following the goings on on screen too carefully, he was too preoccupied with the torrent of thoughts within his mind. Sansa seemed to migrate – as was her habit – from one end of the sofa, to being cozied up to Jon. She’d removed the towel from her head and Jon found himself slinging an arm around her and placing a peck on top of her still damp hair. She fell asleep not long after, leaning against his body.

Jon sighed as the credits for the film he hadn’t paid attention to began rolling up the screen. Pulling out his phone from his jeans pocket, he found himself looking at house prices in Winterfell.

 


	7. I don't think I can wait

Jon leant backwards in his chair having just finished the spiel that he’d practiced time and time again before finally sitting down to ask Brienne.

Brienne Tarth was a good boss, a fair boss, but even Jon knew she had very set limits on what she would and would not allow her employees do. And Jon adored his job at Sapphire Media, working as a sports journalist was all he’d ever wanted out of a career and Brienne had scooped him up straight from university after an internship at one of her magazines and set him on the path that he now did not want to wander from.

 _Not unless I have to, Jon_ thought as he bounced his leg nervously.

“So, let me get this straight,” Brienne said after Jon’s little speech had settled in, “you want to…report from…the north?” she said the last two words slowly, checking that she’d heard him correctly.

“Well…yeah…I thought-“

“Jon, that’s insane!” she shook her head and Jon felt his world narrowing in on the outcome of this conversation. _If I can’t persuade her, I will have to resign_ , he gulped. There were no two ways about it, he was going north with Sansa whether Sapphire Media liked it or not. “I mean,” she continued, one hand smoothing through her short pale-blonde hair, “what would you even report _on?_ ”

“They do have football teams in the north, you know?” Jon huffed.

“Well, yes, but-“ Brienne leant forwards, her forearms resting on her desk, “the Winterfell Wolves haven’t won a cup in years – there’s no money in the game up there, and-“

“There are other sports,” Jon offered.

“What? Like bobsleigh and ski jump?....Jon,” she said with a sigh, “you are our best sports journalist. Our readers love the games reviews and predictions you write about _football_ and _basketball_ …nothing that involves ice and snow. Leave those other sports to the northern reporters and their publication….the-“ Brienne clicked her fingers, trying to recall the name of the magazine.

“The Winter Gazette,” Jon offered.

“Yes, that’s the one,” she paused to soften her expression, “look, your reader base is predominantly southern men and women who like southern sports played in the height of summer.” Brienne searched Jon’s face for signs of his agreement, huffing slightly when she found none. “Seven Hells, we don’t even see a single flake of snow down here…how are your followers meant to relate to the sports you would be reporting on hmm?”

Jon cleared his throat. He had already gone over this when he’d first broached the subject and spewed forth his tirade of reasons for letting him relocate and why allowing him to work remotely would be a good idea. “I think it could be a good introduction to winter-based sports for our readers. We cover what? Only the outcomes of the major tournaments? And even then, we only allow them a column or two. If our readers follow my writing as you say they do, then perhaps I can be the one to encourage new interest to these sports. New interest means new supporters, new supporters means more spectators, more spectators mean more money. The north could benefit from the influx of-“

“The north? Jon, I’m not losing my best journalist just so you can increase the north can cash in on sports tourism. I-“

“Brienne,” Jon interrupted her with a sigh,” I’m sorry, but I _am_ moving north. You can either keep me on and I’ll travel back for select games to report on or lose me – who knows, maybe The Winter Gazette might be willing to take me on? But if my writing is as popular as you say it is, then I suspect that you don’t want that.”

His boss stared at him for a while, her clear blue eyes searching his face while she tried to make sense of all of this. “Jon,” she exhaled, her eyes drifting to the wood of her desk in defeat, “what is it that’s more important than your career with us here? Are you not happy in your work?”

“Of course I’m happy,” he answered, leaning forwards earnestly, “my work is very important to me. You know that.”

“But?”

“But there’s someone that means more to me than all that.”

Brienne sat back then, a sly smile creeping across her face. “Someone? I wasn’t aware you were with anyone at the moment?”

Jon blinked at her. _I’m not,_ he thinks he should say - set her straight, let her know that _no_ , it’s not like that. _Not like that at all._ Instead, he stays quiet, rubbing the palms of his hands together nervously. He’s good at his job, he knows he is. He has a lot of loyal readers and Sapphire Media are going to want to keep him on the books….he hopes.

Brienne huffs and waves a hand in the air briefly. “I suppose we can shuffle some staff around to cover your usual reports. We’ll need to agree in advance which games you’ll be coming back down for.” She concedes, making Jon beam back at her after releasing the breath he had held onto. “but this is a trial mind you,” she points a finger in his direction, “if this doesn’t work out…we’ll have to look at letting you go. Are you sure you’re prepared to risk that? Is it worth it?”

“Yes,” Jon breathed, “it’s worth it.”

 

****

Jon knocked excitedly on Sansa’s apartment door. He’d sent her a text as soon as his meeting with Brienne had concluded, asking if she’s free for him to come over after work. He was bubbling with excitement – a feeling he’s not all that familiar with.

“Come in it’s open!” Sansa calls from the other side, making Jon both huff and smile at the same time.

“You shouldn’t just leave your door open like that!” he hollers into her apartment as he takes off his jacket and hangs it on his usual peg. “What if I had been a murderer or sex pest?”

“Are you a sex pest?” Sansa asks in an uninterested tone.

“Only at the weekends, so you’re in luck,” Jon quips, as he turns the corner, finding Sansa leaning over her kitchen counter, staring distractedly at a pharmacy bag.

“Mm-hm,” she answers, rubbing her hands together nervously, her eyes never leaving the bag.

“Hey…uh…what’s in the bag?” Jon asks, not sure if it’s too much of a personal question to ask – but with the way she’s staring at it, like she’s waiting for it to _do_ something, he figures it must be pretty important. Sansa says nothing, picking up the white paper bag with the green pharmacy cross on and up-ends it, half a dozen long boxes with different colours and logos all come spilling out across her kitchen counter. Jon reaches for the nearest one as Sansa chews on her thumb nail. ‘Pregnancy test’ the box says, he glances at the others, confirming that they’re all essentially the same thing.

“It’s time to find out if it worked then,” Jon deduces, looking from the box in his hands up to a very nervous looking Sansa. She says nothing but nods. “Hey…don’t be nervous…if it worked, it worked…if it didn’t, then you can try again. You said yourself that there’s more samples of Dickon’s…uh-“

“Juice?” Sansa supplied with a faint half-smile.

Jon frowned. Why did that word feel strange? Why does it feel important? He shook himself from his thoughts and smiled at Sansa. “Yeah…I’m sure he’s got plenty of…uh… _that_.”

Sansa rolled her eyes. “I’m meant to take one tomorrow morning. The hormones are strongest in the morning so it will be a clearer result on the stick….but they’re here now,” she surveyed the boxes on her counter-top, “and I don’t know if I can stand to wait till the morning.”

“Well,” Jon rocks back on his heels, “you’ve bought enough of them…I’m sure it wouldn’t hurt to take one of them now?”

“Yeah,” Sansa says, eyes still glued on the boxes. Jon hands her the one he was holding. “You’re right. Totally right. Totally, totally right." Sansa mutters to herself as she walks off dazedly towards her bedroom to use her en-suite, all the while staring down at the box in her hands. She came out a short while later to sit down next to Jon on her sofa, placing the developing pregnancy test on the coffee table in front of them.

“We have to wait 3 minutes,” she whispers.

“Ok,” Jon whispers back, setting a timer on his phone and placing it on his knee. He leans over to Sansa, his shoulder bumping with hers as they both continue to stare at the stick on the table. “Is that hygienic? You peed on that thing.”

Sansa bats him lightly on the arm and lets out a tut. “Yes!” she hissed, still keeping her voice low. “It came with a little dip cup,” Sansa explained, miming the action of dipping the test, “and I’ve put the cap back on the end of the pee bit.”

“Oh, ok.” Jon glanced down at the timer on his knee – 1 minute, 28 seconds gone. “Hey Sansa?” he murmured, leaning over to her again.

“What?” she whispered, keeping her eye on the test.

“Why are we whispering?”

Sansa turned to look at him then, a giggle erupting from her mouth as she shook her head. “I really don’t know,” she smiled, some of the tension leaving the air. Jon chuckled and relaxed into the sofa. Sansa followed suit, although she kept glancing back at the test on the table.

“Why did you want to come over tonight?” Sansa finally asked, only really seeming half interested in his answer anyway.

“Well…I have something to tell you,” Jon started, “I’m….well I’m moving back north too,” he said sheepishly.

“What?”

“I’m moving back to Winterfell.”

“Oh my God Jon!” Sansa exclaimed excitedly on her way to give him a hug but pausing mid-way “Wait, is everything alright at the magazine?”

“Yeah, I’ve-“

Jon’s phone interrupted him with a beep. “Time’s up, you can look at it now” he announced.

Sansa closed her eyes and took a deep breath before reaching over to pick up the test. Cracking open just one eye, Sansa observed the stick in her hand, the tense expression melting from her face as her other eye opened too. Her mouth going slack, she stared at the test in her hand.

“Well?” Jon urged.

“I’m pregnant,” Sansa whispered reverently. “I’m pregnant!” she said a little louder in awe and excitement. She turned to him with wide, happy eyes, “I’m pregnant! I’m pregnant! Oh my God!”

Jon beamed back at her and opened his arms. Sansa fell into him laughing happily, her whole body buzzing with joy. Jon found her happiness infectious and could not stop the smile from splitting his face.

“Oh my God! Oh my God!” She exclaimed, pulling away, looking down at her still flat stomach. “There’s a baby in there!”

Jon laughed and Sansa turned her face up to look at him with watery eyes. “Oh don’t cry!” Jon ushered, reaching over and wiping the tear that began to roll down her soft cheek.

Sansa sniffed and did a sort of hiccup. Her eyes becoming red and more tears forming, even though her lips were framing a smile. Jon cupped her cheeks in both his hands and stroked her skin with his thumbs. “They’re happy tears,” she whispered, making Jon chuckle softly.

“Well as long as that’s the case,” he said, bringing her closer to press his lips tenderly to her forehead, she bowed a little to allow him to do so.

But as Jon’s lips left her head, as Sansa looked up, her eyes now level with his, Jon could feel her breath against his face and the whole world shifted.

Sansa’s eyes dropped to his lips, her tears had stopped and her breath hitched in her throat. Jon froze. _Please,_ he begged the Gods, but he wasn’t entirely sure _what_ it was he was praying for. And then – _then_ \- Sansa lunges for his mouth, slotting her lips with his, making him groan into her mouth, his hands that were cradling her face slid so that his fingers could sink into that silky red hair. As soon as he’d screwed his eyes shut and welcomed her tongue into his mouth, she was gone. Pulling back and staring at him with a look of utter shock on her face as she dumbly brought her hand to her lips.


	8. Take the edge off

Jon woke with a start and a memory. The ghost of Sansa’s lips pressed to his own, the reminiscence of how it had felt to have those silken strands of long red hair slip between his fingers.  He glanced at his alarm clock, 6:49, he read glumly, realising it wasn’t feasible to drift back off to sleep before the loud beeping would wake him all over again. He fixed an accusatory stare at the ceiling above instead, letting out a long, slow exhale, his thoughts drifting back to where they seemed to want to linger. No matter how hard he’d tried to make them stop.

_“I-I,” Sansa stuttered, her mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air, “I’m so sorry Jon!” she blurted with wide, horrified eyes. “I didn’t mean to do that! I just…I just got caught up in all the happiness and-“_

_Jon finally, **finally** took a breath. “It’s alright,” he reassured her, shaking his head and blinking to himself as if trying to be rid of a spell she had cast. “I didn’t mean to..uh…respond, it’s just-“_

_“Oh Gods! No! It-it was **my** fault, I-“ Sansa protested before her words skidded to a halt and her forehead puckered adorably. “You…you responded,” she clarified to herself in a whisper, visibly replaying the memory of their kiss over in her mind. Her fingers came up to brush against her lips once more. “You..” Jon watched as she shook herself, casting away whatever notion it was she was about to speak into the world. She plastered on a smile that was too bright, too false. “You were caught off guard” she supplied._

_Jon nodded dumbly in response._

Jon sighed up to his ceiling again, offering his confusion up to the Gods for them to figure out what the fuck was going on. _What would have happened if I hadn’t readily agreed to dismiss that kiss? What would I have **wanted** to happen? This is **Sansa** for Gods sake!_ He turned onto his side and stared grumpily at his alarm clock as he watched the illuminated 6:53 tick over to 6:54. _It’s Sansa,_ he argued with himself, _we don’t mess around with stuff like that with Sansa. She’s your friend. You dearest friend. Let’s not fuck all that up because of one kiss…Admittedly, it was an amazing kiss…but maybe she’s just an excellent kisser…maybe that’s just how her mouth…works?_ Jon made a noise of disgust at himself and rolled onto his back once more. _Do not think about her mouth!_ He clamped his eyes shut and shook his head on his pillow. _Don’t think about it._ His cock started to harden despite his protests. _Quit it!_

Jon made a pitiful whining noise at the back of his throat as his hand curled around himself. _I’m going to be stuck in a car with Sansa all morning, surrounded by her fresh citrusy scent…it would probably be good to just take the edge off a bit._ He ceased his strokes immediately. _Since when did I need to ‘take the edge off’ around Sansa?...She’s beautiful of course, but I’ve always known that…I like her laugh, sure…and, yeah, ok, I’ve pictured her while jacking off before but…_ His mind wandered to those times he had imagined her - naked and writhing under him, panting filthy word into his ear, encouraging him to fuck her harder, faster. His hand began to move slowly once more. But now he had new information. He knew what it was like to kiss her. He knew how her lips had tasted.

Jon came with a pained stutter of Sansa Stark’s name on his tongue and instantly the shame flooded him. _Never again,_ he thinks to himself. _Never picture her again. It’s not right. If she knew-…I…I wonder what Sansa thinks of when-_

**_BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!_ **

Jon groaned before reaching to shut off his unnecessary alarm, scrubbing his hands down his face before he swiped some tissues from the box on his nightstand to clear up the mess on his belly. He jumped into the shower and occupied his mind with the week ahead in a bid to stop himself from over-analysing _that kiss_ again. _It was a silly mistake,_ he reminded himself, _we just got caught up in the moment. We’re friends and that’s what’s important right now._

It has been a little over a month since Sansa found out she was pregnant, Jon managed to get his work to allow him to move north with her….and _that kiss_. Things had seemed to return to normality between them. They still met up three times a week for breakfast at the diner, Jon would often pop in after work to share some take-out and now that they were both single, they would spend a considerable amount of their weekends together too. It was as if _that kiss_ had never even happened.

Both Jon and Sansa had been searching online for places to live once they made the move up north. But looking at the odd photograph of beige carpet and outdated wallpaper wasn’t quite the same as seeing the houses ‘in the flesh’ so to speak. So, this week they had both taken time off work to travel up together and go to view some properties.

Jon sat in his car, parked up outside Sansa’s apartment block. He’d sent her a text to let her know he was here to pick her up but honked his horn a few times as she came bustling out of the door.

“Do you have to do that?!” Sansa huffed as she slid into the passenger seat, after she unceremoniously chucked her bag in the backseat to sit with his.  “It annoys me so much when you do that!”

“I know,” Jon grinned back at her, turning the key in the ignition. “That’s pretty much _why_ I do it to be honest.”

The journey up to Winterfell would last approximately 5 hours if Jon was in any particular hurry. But as Sansa continued to sing along to the music from the radio, the summer breeze coming rushing in through her open window, blowing wild strands of her auburn hair around, Jon found that he automatically set a leisurely pace, stopping at roadside cafes to pick up refreshments and snacks, taking little detours from the motorway to drive through the more scenic routes (that Sansa loved).

“Where are we going?” Sansa asked, scrunching her nose after taking a slurp of her iced lemon slush through the straw. She’d obviously not expected the turning Jon had made into a passing town as she peered curiously out of the window at the businesses and stores whizzing by.

“I read about this big ‘Mother and Baby’ discount outlet just a few miles out of our way, thought you might like to take a look at what they have?” Jon made a succession of quick glance at Sansa beside him to see her turn in her seat to face him, a smile glowing all around her features.

“I’d love that. Thank you Jon,” she said before cradling her still flat belly as she gazed down at it.

Turns out, babies are fucking expensive – even when their paraphernalia is heavily discounted. “Seven Hells Sans, you gonna re-mortgage your apartment to be able to afford all this baby stuff?” he says, noting the price tag of a high-end electric bottle sterilizer.

“Well, Mum and Dad have said they want to buy the crib, and Robb and Jeyne have a lot of things that they’re willing to pass along from when the boys were little,” Sansa replied distractedly as she continued studying the shelves of product. “Besides, I have some money tucked away. It won’t be so bad.”

Jon was about to ask if Dickon planned on helping her out any, but he clamped his mouth shut instead. Sansa’s arrangement with Dickon, as far as Jon knew was that he was held to no responsibilities concerning _their_ child. Jon forced his expression to stay impassive at his thoughts of the other man. Truly, he had no reason to dislike Dickon, but the mental image of him touching the small of Sansa’s back came unbidden and it was difficult to hold back the snarl his lip seemed to want to curl into.

As if conjured by Jon’s very own thoughts, Sansa’s phone started ringing, “Oh, it’s Dickon,” she said to herself as she checked the screen. Sansa answered the call with a bright ‘hello’ and wandered off towards the buggy section with the phone pressed to her ear. Jon watched her carefully as he pretended to continue perusing the baby products, he blindly picked something up and turned it over in his hands without breaking his vigil over her. Sansa’s usually sunny expression began to cloud over with her smile dropping and her forehead scrunching with concern. Jon’s jaw tightened at the sight, she looked worried and he didn’t like it. Not at all.

“Everything ok?” Jon asked when Sansa came wandering back over, her phone now safely back in her pocket.

“Um…yeah…it’s just…well, that was Dickon…he was ringing to let me know that he’s being deployed to Asshai tomorrow,” she said, giving a small wave of dismissal before she swallowed down a small gulp, “he’ll be gone for 18 months…so…he won’t be around for the birth.”

The crestfallen expression on her face hit Jon like a punch to his gut. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, reaching out with his free hand to stroke up and down her arm.

“It’s fine, its fine,” Sansa sniffed unconvincingly, and Jon got the distinct impression that it wasn’t fine at all. “I’m just being silly. I knew what I was getting into with this. Dickon and I aren’t together and as far as our arrangement, he’s done his part…I just…I don’t know-“ she stopped mid-sentence, her mouth opening, urging the reluctant words to come forth.

“Hey,” Jon said gently, tugging her close before the tear he could see threatening to slide down her cheek could travel any further, “you’re not alone in this,” he reassured, wrapping his arms around her and pressing a kiss to her crown, “you’re never alone Sansa. _Never_.”

Jon liked the feeling of holding Sansa, even when it was to comfort her. He hoped that she would always come to him for these types of things - any worries or concerns, because there would always be a place in his arms for her. After a little while, Sansa snuffled and leant back to look at him. Her eyes were still a little glassy but her smile was genuine. “Thank you, Jon,” she said earnestly before one side of her mouth turned down to try and unsuccessfully stifle a smirk. “Are you gonna buy that breast pump or what?” she asked, inclining her head towards the product still clutched in his hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick note to clarify, Sansa thinking that Dickon would be 'around' when the baby arrived, was her just thinking that he'd see the baby at the hospital...not that he'd be there at the birth. Also...poor luv is all kinds of confused about her feelings - she can sort of blame some of it on the hormones.


End file.
